The Amethyst Amulets

by Cillian Burns

  "No,” Julie said softly. “Let's go through the tunnel. I can do it.” If it would save their lives, she'd suffer in silence. The baby wouldn't come right away, anyway. There was time.

  Harald looked dubious and Nicholas shook his head. “Nay, sweeting, you could not.” Eldred returned and regarded them quizzically.

  "My lady is in labor,” Nicholas whispered. “She cannot use the tunnel."

  Eldred nodded. “I have already disabled the guard on the keep door, Lord Nicholas. Let us be on our way.” In the flaring torchlight, his face looked as grim as Julie felt.

  "Using the gate is too dangerous. Take the tunnel. I'll manage,” she insisted again, trying to bolster up her courage. Then the first contraction gripped her. “Oh,” she moaned, trying to stifle the sound with a hand over her mouth.

  "No tunnel.” Nicholas caught her up in his arms and strode across the hall, stepping carefully over sleeping retainers and servants.

  It was fortunate these people were used to people walking over them, Julie thought, else someone would surely have given the alarm.

  Clutching his shoulders, she breathed in his ear, “Oh, Nicholas. I'm so sorry."

  "It cannot be helped, sweeting. Nature will have its way."

  Julie bit her lip. “Please, Nicholas. Don't endanger everyone. Use the tunnel."

  "Julie, you must trust me to do the right thing. The only way you can leave is through the front gate. Therefore, that is the path we must take."

  Hearing the unrelenting tone of his voice, she ceased to protest. Perhaps this was what fate—or Lily—had decreed for them.

  Norville Keep had only one bailey since the holding was small in comparison to Barstow Castle. Still, it seemed to take forever to cross it. As they neared the gatehouse, she could see Eldred, who had gone ahead, speaking to the guards. He waved a hand, directing their attention outward, perhaps saying he had seen or heard something outside the keep.

  Nicholas placed Julie in Harald's arms. “Guard her well,” he whispered.

  "With my life."

  Julie heard the earnestness in the young man's voice. Perhaps Harald would be a good choice for Gwyneth. Then another contraction struck hard and she groaned.

  Gwyneth. If only she were at home with her sweet little lady-in-waiting, not being held by a man she scarcely knew in an enemy's keep. And with a baby coming, fast. Julie blinked back the tears and stifled another moan.

  Harald looked anxiously down at her. “My lady, are you well?"

  "No, Harald, I'm not well. This babe is two weeks early, and I'm scared to death.” The truth spilled out. “Nicholas is going to fight our way out of here, maybe get himself killed, and Miles may catch us before we reach Barstow's army. No, I have been much better."

  "I am so sorry, my lady,” Harald said, “but you know I will give my life to keep you safe."

  Her throat too constricted to thank him, she squeezed his shoulder.

  They moved slowly toward the guardhouse, staying in the shadows as much as possible. “We must be ready to go as soon as they overpower the guards and raise the portcullis.” He halted where the shadows ended and waited.

  A drop of water hit Julie on the nose, followed by several more. “And to add to everything else, it's raining,” she murmured.

  "We will reach the army before you are soaked, Lady Julianne.” Harald pulled her dark cloak across the rounded hill of her stomach.

  Nicholas had joined Eldred and stood beside him, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  One of the guards who had climbed the gate tower to check out the dark fields surrounding the keep arrived back. “I see nothing out there, dolt."

  Nicholas saw four guards, not three, altering the odds in favor of Miles’ men.

  "Who are you,” one of them snarled at Nicholas. Fortunately the shadow of the wall fell across his face, effectively disguising him.

  "Your executioner.” Nicholas yanked out his sword and lunged at the surprised guard.

  "I am sorry, my lady.” Harald let her slide down to her feet. “Stand over there, please.” He motioned to a place against the shadowy wall. “I fear I am needed elsewhere."

  'Yes, go help them.” She moved where he indicated. She wished she could do something, but her condition made it impossible. She could only watch and pray while Harald sprinted to the aid of Edgar, Nicholas and Eldred. Julie leaned against the wall her hand pressed to her stomach. Another sharp pain struck and she stifled a scream.

  Through the mist of tears, she saw Nicholas battling one of the guards, while Edgar, Eldred and Harald engaged the other three. Nicholas dispatched his guard quickly and took on Harald's man, telling him to raise the portcullis and lower the drawbridge. Eldred and Edgar finished off their opponents and ran to help Harald. The metallic clank of the portcullis rising was accompanied by the squeal of the creaking drawbridge, an unholy racket. Other guards would surely come now.

  She glanced upward and called out a warning to Nicholas as she spied several wall guards racing toward the stairs.

  "Right,” Nicholas shouted and made a swift end of the last man. He ran to her, his sword dripping blood.

  "Come, Julie. We must hurry."

  "I can't.” Julie had tried to ignore the pressure and the pain. Now, in her moment of greatest need, her body deserted her. She felt her knees buckling.

  With lightning speed, Nicholas swept her up and dashed for the portcullis. They passed beneath it, the other three bringing up the rear guard. The pungent smell of stagnant water rising from the moat made Julie feel worse than she already did.

  "Aargh!"

  Julie heard Harald's exclamation and peeked over Nicholas's shoulder. “Oh, God! Harald is down. There's an arrow sticking out of his back,” she cried.

  Wasting no words, Nicholas thrust her into Eldred's arms and ran back. He picked up Harald and threw him over his shoulder.

  Harald was protesting as Nicholas caught up with the others. “Leave me, milord. Save Lady Julianne and yourself.” His youthful face was contorted with pain as he gasped for breath. At least no blood poured from his mouth. Julie hoped it had not hit a lung.

  Nicholas ignored him, running as fast as he could across the field. But their luck ran out. Julie looked over Nicholas's shoulder and what she beheld filled her with fear. Hard on their heels and brandishing his sword came Miles on his great destrier, Devil. As he crossed the drawbridge, Julie shrieked a warning. Nicholas set Harald down as gently as he could and whirled, drawing his sword.

  As he parried Miles’ blow he shouted, “A de Montclair.” She turned her head and saw the Barstow army moving swiftly toward them.

  Eldred set her down and turned back to help Nicholas, with Edgar staggering along beside him. To make matters worse, the rain began coming down in sheets, soaking Julie's hair and cloak.

  Suddenly, she realized Miles had circumvented Nicholas and his men and was charging right at her. She managed to step aside, evading the madman. But she stepped on a stone and her ankle turned. Losing her balance she went face down in the mud. Her scream tore the air. She rolled and clasped her stomach, fearing the baby had been hurt in the fall.

  Hands gripped her shoulders, trying to raise her.

  "No, no,” she screamed, fearing it was Miles.

  "Shh, Julie. It's me."

  "Lily!” Julie had never been happier to see her friend than now. “The baby's coming."

  "I know.” Lily sank to her knees next to Julie. “This is not the moment I would have chosen, but we must deal with it."

  She wrapped Julie's cloak more tightly around her body. “It will be a little while, but soon,” she assured Julie, clasping her hands.

  "Nicholas. Is he okay?” In her terror she reverted to a vernacular she'd tried to suppress during her stay in the thirteen century.

  "He's still fighting.” A moment later, Lily said, “Well, will you look at this."

  Julie raised her head. “What?"

  "Nicholas's horse Archangel has come to help him."


  "Your doing, of course."

  Lily smiled but didn't answer.

  Julie saw Nicholas vault onto his horse's back. The great destrier lowered his head and ran at Devil, as Miles whirled about to meet Nicholas's charge.

  They came together in a crash of steel on steel, horseflesh against horseflesh. Nicholas's sword struck Miles’ with such force that the other man was unhorsed. Devil staggered and Archangel smote him a blow with his powerful shoulder, then stepped back and pawed the ground. Devil backed up a step and eyed the other horse nervously.

  Nicholas leaped to the ground and waited for Miles to rise.

  Julie tried to watch, but the pains were coming too fast now to ignore, and on top of that, the storm increased in strength, drenching everyone to the skin. The battlefield turned into a quagmire threatening the footing of the combatants. A slip at the wrong time could be fatal.

  She dug her fingers into the muddy grass, thrashing her head from side to side as each contraction wrenched at her insides. Lily lifted Julie's head and held a cup of water to her parched lips. Heaven knows where that came from, Julie thought, but Lily was a sorceress. Then her friend slipped a stick between her teeth. Its sudden appearance was also a puzzle since no trees dotted the empty plain.

  "Bite down on this when the pain comes. It will help.” Julie nodded and clenched the stick on her teeth.

  After a few minutes, Lily lifted Julie's gown and checked her dilation. Then she rearranged Julie's cloak, using half for a blanket beneath her, and the other part to cover her front. “Before long,” she said.

  "It can't happen soon enough.” The pain enveloped her entirely now. She battled it as Nicholas fought Miles, each for mastery of something unbearable.

  She could spare no glance at Nicholas now. He had defeated Miles before and, God willing, he would again.

  Lily gripped her hand. “Bear down."

  Julie bore down. The pain bore down, too. She couldn't bear it. She spit out the stick. “Make it go away,” she cried to Lily.

  "All in good time, dear."

  "That's what you always say,” Julie moaned. “I'm going to remember...Oh, God!” she screamed as a violent contraction threatened to split her in half.

  "It's time to push,” Lily said, ignoring Julie's comments.

  "I am pushing."

  "Harder.” Lily pulled Julie's knees apart, then lifted her shift. “You're fully dilated. It won't be long now."

  "Make it now!” She screamed again.

  "I can see the head.” Lily pressed Julie's hand harder. “Hold on, my dear. You're doing fine. Not much longer.” Suddenly, she let go of Julie's hand and reached down.

  Julie saw stars before her eyes, as the pain escalated until it encompassed her completely in the wan light of a dismal gray dawn.

  "One more push."

  She gritted her teeth and pushed. For a moment, darkness enveloped her, but the blackout was fleeting and she revived to hear Lily say, “The baby is here. A boy.” But there was a tenseness in her voice Julie didn't like.

  "Let me have him.” She stretched out her arms.

  "No, dear. It would be better if you didn't."

  Julie struggled up on her elbows and peered at Lily, who quickly turned her back. “What's wrong? Tell me!"

  "The baby is not breathing.” Lily worked over the tiny body but to no avail.

  "Oh, no!” Julie fell back onto the wet earth and began sobbing.

  Lily produced some cloth from out of nowhere and wrapped the tiny body. “This time it is even worse,” she murmured.

  "Oh, my God, I've lost Nicholas's child,” Julie moaned, thrashing her head from side to side. “Nicholas!” she gasped, horrified that she had forgotten him for a while. “Is he winning?"

  "He's doing fine.” Lily wiped some of the rainwater from Julie's eyes. Another clean cloth. This woman amazed her.

  Suddenly, she felt a rush of warm liquid between her legs. Anxiously, she looked at Lily. “The afterbirth?” Please, let it be only that.

  "Yes.” Her friend checked, then glanced up, her mouth drawn in a thin line.

  Julie clutched her hand. “Tell me that's all it is."

  "I wish I could, Julie. But I'm afraid it's more than that. You're hemorrhaging."

  "Like before?"

  Lily nodded. “Like before."

  "We aren't going to change things for the better, are we?"

  "It doesn't look that way. We'll just have to wait and see."

  Conflicting emotions surged through Julie's mind. Fear, despair, and a small modicum of hope. Although the baby had died, she wasn't dead yet. I will overcome this. I will overcome this. If she said it often enough would it come true? All she wanted was to be with Nicholas. Was that so much to ask? They could have another baby. Finally, she forced herself to relax and give Nature a chance.

  Nicholas held his broadsword with both hands to increase the effectiveness of each blow he rained on Miles. The other man appeared to be tiring, but not enough for Nicholas to finish him off. He could hardly believe the friend of his youth, the warrior Nicholas had given his sister to, had turned into his worst enemy. This man had stolen his wife, not once, but twice. There would be no third chance, no reprieve for Miles at the end of this fight which Nicholas believed he could win. This man needed to be cut out of his life—forever.

  However, he needed to wear Miles down before he himself tired. Into his mind came something he had heard on that picture box called a television. “Have I got your goat, yet?” he yelled.

  "What?” Miles hesitated. Nicholas whacked him on the side of the head with the flat of his sword. Perhaps using twenty-first century language could help him defeat a man very evenly matched with himself.

  "Hands up, hombre.” He whirled his sword before him and charged the other knight. The point caught Miles in the shoulder, penetrating between the links of his chain mail. A thin line of blood trickled down his mailed arm as he staggered back.

  Miles recovered a bit slowly and Nicholas's weapon slid under his shield. Miles swiveled, just enough for Nicholas's sword to skid harmlessly along his side.

  "Whatever spells you are conjuring do not work,” Miles shouted, sounding desperate.

  Nicholas chuckled. “Throw down your gun and get your hands in the air.” Those late night westerns he had watched were coming in handy. Miles might try to discount the effect of Nicholas's strange language, but he could see a subtle change in Miles’ fighting style, momentary hesitations after each of Nicholas's comments.

  "Draw, partner,” he said.

  "A draw? Certainly not.” He heard Miles spluttering. While he could not see Miles’ face behind his visor, Nicholas envisioned it to be beet red with both frustration and confusion.

  Nicholas laughed. “Lousy varmint.” He easily parried Miles’ wild swing.

  As from a great distance, he heard encouraging shouts from his troops. He hoped they would not become careless and forget the enemy archers on the keep's wall. But he knew they were ready for him to order them into battle against Miles’ men who had thronged across the drawbridge and stood watching the fight.

  Infuriated by Nicholas's taunts and insouciant manner, Miles charged, swinging his sword in a series of rapid overhand slashes. Nicholas parried the blows, giving ground bit by bit. Thinking he had the advantage, Miles pressed forward, pushing Nicholas back with each stroke.

  Nicholas wished he had his shield to deflect some of the blows. His arm was growing numb from the flurry of bone-crushing blows he had to stop with his broadsword, each nearly paralyzing his right arm. He dropped back farther, trying to give his muscles a chance to recover.

  Nicholas preferred offense to defense, but at the moment this was difficult. Just as he began to think that he might not win this fight, Rannulf came running to his side and tossed him a shield. Thank God! It could make the difference between winning and losing.

  He deflected Miles’ next blow with his shield letting his left arm take the numbing hit. His right
arm began to regain strength, the tingling numbness lessening. Again and again, he used his shield, resting his right arm. Then he danced forward in a series of ground-gaining leaps and strokes. Cheers greeted his attack.

  Now it was Miles’ turn to retreat. Nicholas rained blow after blow on his opponent.

  "Abduct my wife, will you?"

  "Aye, and I will do it again, if I can,” snarled his brother-in-law.

  "Over my dead body."

  "I can arrange that."

  "Nay, you cannot and will not."

  Nicholas said no more. He reserved his breath for fighting, knowing he would need all his strength to deliver the coup de grace. He hoped Julie and Harald were all right, but could spare no glances and only a fleeting thought for either in his battle to the death.

  And whose death? He had little doubt now. God and right were on his side. With that thought came a quiet assurance and a resolve to make every blow count. To drive back this fiend until he fell into the moat, if necessary. Then, the weight of his chain mail would pull him down, and he would drown. Nay. Nicholas wanted the personal satisfaction of driving his blade straight through the blackguard's heart. He hoped both armies would continue to hold back, and let him be the one to decide the outcome of this battle. If by defeating Miles in single combat once more he could avert bloodshed, he would be eternally grateful.

  Miles stopped retreating and stood still for a moment.

  "Got a mile wide yellow streak running down your back?” Nicholas taunted.

  Miles swung his sword about his head. With an outraged scream lunged full tilt at Nicholas, who jumped to the side, but continued forward, leaving his sword pointed at the other man's chest. Miles ran himself onto Nicholas's sword, the force of his charge so great the tip penetrated his chain mail. He stopped and looked down, as though in amazement.

  Miles flung off his helm and his eyes stared blankly at Nicholas. He staggered forward, both hands trying to pull Nicholas's weapon from his chest. “I am finished, you cur, but I will meet you again in Hell,” he whispered. Even dying, Miles spouted bravado, and threw degrading words at the man who had killed him.